


Cleanup Time

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Telekinesis, Tickling, some foot play if you squint maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 23:19:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Quentin’s offer to help Eliot clean up the morning after a party at the cottage leads to Eliot’s discovery of one of Quentin’s hidden kinks.





	Cleanup Time

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own The Magicians. I just wanted to write some Queliot. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy.

Cleanup Time

By Lexalicious70

 

“Jesus fuck, look at this place!”

 

Eliot looked up from gathering empty wine bottles, which seemed to litter almost every corner of the Physical Kids Cottage, as Quentin came to the bottom of the stairs. He was still in his pajama bottoms and a thin white cotton tee, his feet bare.

 

“It was quite a party if I recall. Do I recall? Hmmh. Well, from what I remember.” Eliot dumped another armload of bottles into a green garbage bag.

 

“It was packed when I went upstairs around midnight. El . . . why don’t you just use magic to clean up?” Quentin asked, and Eliot sighed.

 

“Because cleaning spells are involved and draining and bad for your skin. So either the cottage looks good or I do, and I think we both know which decision I made.”

 

“Well here, let me help.” Quentin picked up a glass ashtray crammed with cigarette butts and more than a few burned-out joint roaches. Eliot nodded to his friend and lover.

 

“Thanks, honeylove . . . there’s some furniture polish and a duster down in that cabinet.” He handed Quentin a smaller trash bag. “Just toss the butts in there and we’ll put them in the dumpster out back.”

 

“Sure.” Quentin went about emptying the ashtrays, marveling at their number. Eliot floated the trash bags full of bottles out the back door, where they clinked and chimed on their way to the recycling bin. Quentin crouched down and opened a cabinet door. Just as Eliot had said, there was a can of orange-scented furniture polish, a squirt bottle filled with distilled water, and—

 

“What the hell is this?” Quentin laughed as he pulled the ornate feather duster from the cabinet. It flared wide at the end and was dyed in an array of rainbow colors. Eliot glanced over his shoulder.

 

“That would be my furniture duster.”

 

“God.” Quentin twirled it briefly. “It’s like you recycled a lifetime supply of Rip Taylor confetti!”

 

“Rip Taylor is a legend, thank you.” Eliot took the duster from Quentin’s hand. “And aren’t we sassy this morning!” He punctuated his comment by using the end of the duster to poke Quentin in the chest, and Quentin materialized the squirt bottle into his right hand, raising it in defense as he grinned. Eliot’s amber eyes narrowed.

 

“You wouldn’t d—”

 

A several spritzes of the water hit Eliot in the face, cutting off his words. Quentin took a step backward and then fled, laughing, around the couch with Eliot in pursuit. Eliot ran Quentin into a corner and pulled the bottle from his hand and Quentin retaliated, poking at Eliot with the feather duster. Eliot grabbed one end and wrestled it away and turned it on the younger magician, whose entire body language changed the moment the feathers touched his neck. He pulled his arms close to his chest and pressed himself into the wall, laughing and shaking his head.

 

“Okay, okay, I give, El, stop!” He almost squeaked, and Eliot grinned.

 

“What’s this? Is Quentin Coldwater ticklish?” He playfully pinned Quentin against the wall and shook the feathers against Quentin’s neck, above the line of his tee. Quentin’s cheeks flushed pink and he squirmed.

 

“Ye—I mean, no!” Quentin laughed, pushing against Eliot, who took the opportunity to grab both his wrists.

 

“Quentin, you’ve been very _very_ naughty this morning, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you!” He wrestled Quentin over to the couch, where he pushed him down onto his back and force-pinned his hands behind his head. Quentin’s bare toes wiggled and he squirmed, but there was no fear or panic in his dark eyes—they’d played these kinds of games in the past and he knew that he had nothing to fear. Of course, he’d hidden his ticklish nature up until now, and the gleam in Eliot’s eyes told him he was about to pay for it. A murmured spell whisked his tee shirt away, leaving his pecs and underarms exposed. Eliot regarded them thoughtfully and Quentin shook his head.

 

“Come on El, let me up, I’ll say I’m soorr _aaaa_!” Quentin’s plea turned into a cry of surprise and a spurt of helpless giggles as Eliot attacked his chest with the feather duster. Quentin tried to twist away, laughing and gasping even as little electric tingles of pleasure raced down through his groin each time the feathers brushed across his nipples. He tried to conceal his reaction by pressing his inner thighs together, but his cock started to give interested little twitches that he knew Eliot would notice. “Eliot, come on!”  
 

“Oooh, an invitation!” Eliot crowed before straddling Quentin until their groins touched, tailored linen against the soft flannel of Quentin’s pajama pants. Quentin bit his lower lip as Eliot brushed against him a few times and then spun the duster with his long, clever fingers, eyeing Quentin’s taut underarms. Quentin shook his head, his flat belly heaving as he tried to suck in his breath for the onslaught he knew was coming.

 

“El don’t, donnnnnnohmygod _aaaaaaah_!” Quentin cried before bursting into hysterical giggles as the feathers attacked. They flitted along his underarms, above the elbow, then nestled deep into the pits, where Eliot let the opposite end of the handle poke and tease. Quentin felt his face grow hot as his breath grew short. He tried to beg for mercy, but more giggles bubbled up from his throat as Eliot tickled one arm, then the other, before moving down to his side. Quentin went pliant beneath Eliot’s long, slender frame, no longer able to resist. He lay there, squirming, red, and chuffing out breathless laughter. Eliot finally pulled the duster back and grinned down at Quentin.

 

“My poor helpless little Q,” He cooed. Quentin let out a shuddering breath, expecting a reprieve, but then his eyes widened as he heard two dull clunks—the sound of Eliot’s loafers hitting the floor.

 

“El, what—” Quentin began as Eliot’s red-and-black fine argyle socks fluttered down to the floor as well. Eliot leaned over, kissed Quentin’s nipples each in turn, then pulled Quentin’s pajama bottoms down to reveal an erection that was already flushed and dripping. Eliot smiled and reversed his position so his back was to Quentin, his knees bent. Quentin opened his mouth to speak and ended up gulping down what felt like most of the cottage’s air in a shocked intake of breath as Eliot swallowed his erection, dug his bare toes into Quentin’s sensitive sides, and attacked his feet with the feather duster. His whole body bucked hard but Eliot hung on like a determined cowboy, using his leg muscles to stay balanced as his toes wiggled against Quentin’s sides. Quentin’s mouth dropped open as the sensory information flooded his brain and nerves, registering a mix of pleasure and tensing muscles and the contrast of overload and wanting more. Eliot’s talented tongue was doing devastating things to the head of his cock and Quentin’s hips bucked even as he tried to draw his feet away from the duster. His own toes jerked at the stimulation and he found that Eliot had force-pinned his ankles to prevent him from kicking. His head rolled back and forth along the couch’s fabric, sweat forming along his temples and underarms, his body winding into something so tight and tense he could barely recognize it as his own flesh.

 

_El_ — Quentin tried to say but nothing came out but noises that were tangled in a potent mix of pleasure and sensory information that didn’t know what it wanted to report. Eliot’s shoulders moved as his head bobbed up and down and Quentin moaned as the tension and Eliot’s weight made him feel deliciously submissive and the press of Eliot’s toes and his hot tongue running along the underside of his cock and fuck, fuck, _FUCK_ —

 

A warbling, choked cry bubbled up from Quentin’s throat and he froze, the cords in his neck standing out in tortured relief as his climax overtook both conscious thought and physical action. He came hard, shooting down Eliot’s throat in pulses that felt white-hot in their intensity. A sound like the explosive mass flight of a flock of huge birds filled his ears, grew louder, then faded. As the last of the contractions wracked Quentin’s body, he realized that the duster was no longer working at his feet but Eliot’s left arm was moving frantically. Hot spurts of his lover’s seed hit his upper thigh a moment later as he reached his own orgasm, and Quentin let himself drift, secure in Eliot’s presence, the feel and scent of him. When he finally stilled, Quentin felt his hands and ankles go free and he lifted his right hand to stroke Eliot’s back. The taller man turned to face Quentin, his wilting cock hanging free. He grinned.

 

“Well. Looks like we have more to clean up now.”

 

“I hope we didn’t kill the couch,” Quentin chuckled, his nerves finally settling, and Eliot ran a hand through his hair.

 

“I think Margo might know a spell for that. And I’m pretty confident that’s not the first time this couch has been abused.” His amber eyes seemed to almost glow with the aftermath of his pleasure as he zipped up his slacks. “Also? You, Quentin Coldwater, are not nearly as vanilla as you want people to think.” His grin softened. “I love that.”

 

Quentin blushed a little as he pulled up his pajama bottoms. “You caught me off guard,” he claimed as he reached for the feather duster, but Eliot held it out of his reach.

 

“Ah ah! This little implement is graduating from its home in the cleaning cabinet to its new home in my closet. For use in the future.”

 

“Next time I’ll see you coming!” Quentin grinned, and Eliot patted his cheek.

 

“Only if I face the other way, Q.”

 

END

 


End file.
